a thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices

Advent is probably my favorite time of year. I love the Christmas carols, I love the lights, I love the growing cold that holds the promise of snow. I love that we have evergreens covering almost every square inch of my church and that Mariah Carey reminds us that "He rules the world with truth and grace" on the radio. Everything seems a little more crisp and real--not to mention joyful--to me during this time.

And so it has been bizarre to me to experience Advent this year as a period of mourning. In the past month, two friends-of-friends have died very suddenly and very tragically. One was a boy from my high school; another was a friend of my brother's who committed suicide. My dad had to tell me that his chronic pain is not getting better but worse. Ebola has broken out in a region of Uganda where my church has missionaries and where several of my friends have served; one of its victims was a doctor to whom their whole team was close. Several friends have recently broken off relationships and I now have to watch them walk through the resulting heartaches.

As I write it all out, it feels like I have just been bombarded with one single reminder: "The world is not as it should be." Some days I have cried; other days, I have just felt completely numb. I have struggled with hopelessness and hardness, because if you do not hope, it feels easier to face a new tragedy (or continue to deal with an old one). I have wondered whether the world has always been this brutal, or whether I am just becoming aware of it after living so many years in a world that (thankfully) has accorded me relative comfort and protection. I'm sure, when I consider it, it has always been this bad. I am not totally sure what to do about that.

It at first seemed to me especially cruel for all of this to happen at Advent. But, on the other hand, Advent has been my source of hope as I look at all of this. It is times like these that we most need and desire to sing, O Come O Come, Emmanuel. There are days when I know that the world will seem much sweeter, but there are also days when the world seems like it offers very little hope. And this is why we need Jesus, and why we celebrate His coming. He will make it right; He is making it right. At the same time, He came to suffer with us, to bear our burdens. As my pastor's wife told me, we can mourn because we know that as much as we hate death and suffering and sin, God hates it so much more. This is not the way His Creation is supposed to be. And, because Jesus came, it is not the way it will be forever.

A friend's Christmas letter arrived yesterday, and it also was meditating on suffering in the midst of Advent. She included the words to a carol that I had heard years ago but forgotten:

I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head
"There is no peace on earth," I said
"For hate is strong and mocks the song
of peace on earth, good-will to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail
With peace on earth, good-will to men."

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.